


Do Not Disturb

by Kayasurin



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Between two boys, Don't like, Don't read, Except when just woken up, Fluff I guess, Jack doesn't like being woken up, Jack normally pulls his punches, M/M, Pitch regrets being annoying, Seasonal sleep, also sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 21:26:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1319791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayasurin/pseuds/Kayasurin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Five times Jack got angry his seasonal sleep was interrupted, and one time he didn't mind so much.</i>
</p>
<p>Seasonal spirits sleep for at least one season out of the year. For winter spirits, it's summer. For Jack... people keep waking him up while he sleeps. Unfortunately for them, sleepy Jack isn't a happy Jack. Unless you're a certain somebody, in which case... Well, Bunny, don't forget to take your vitamins and hydrate, okay?</p>
<p>Inspired by <a href="http://rotg-kink.dreamwidth.org/3036.html?thread=6657756#cmt6657756">this prompt</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Not Disturb

1\. Tooth (1729)

"Yes, yes," she said, and flew after the small cluster of fairies. "I'm coming. What _has_ gotten you so worked up, girls?"

The eldest of the five fairies twittered about teeth and snow- had any of the baby teeth gotten lost in the snow? Oh, that would be just horrible! But not the end of the world. It was easy enough to find teeth, even white teeth in white, fluffy flakes, but these fairies were rather young. They may not have thought of that, poor little girls. Well, she'd have to lead them around to thinking of it on their own, so they gained in confidence.

They flew over rough, wooded terrain. Tooth peered down with a fair dose of curiosity. _America_. The natives here didn't believe in the tooth fairy, though she collected their teeth anyways. Belief or no, she had vowed to protect all children, and letting old teeth just lie around for just anyone to pick up and use was _wrong_. Still, she didn't think she'd ever come here herself, and that was a real shame. But things just kept getting busier and busier, as humans settled into ruling their surroundings and having more and more children. She'd had to expand her palace again. You could hardly tell that her father's palace had been there first; now it was all airy towers and the bright colors her soul craved.

Bunnymund liked to complain that Tooth had never seen a color she didn't like, and paired each new favorite with all her old ones, which did make for some odd combinations, she knew, but... she liked it. It was her mother's blood in her; Mother had been just as color-mad as Tooth was now.

The scenery here in America was amazing. Already she had flown over great, wet forests with trees that clawed for the sky, and scrublands with the most amazing rock sculptures, done entirely by the wind and weather (and maybe one insomniac Pooka; she rather thought some of those arches had Bunny's metaphoric fingerprints on them).

And now the forests were back, the trees shorter and everything much less wet, but no less breathtaking for that difference. The air had a bite to it; a cold whisper on the wind that told her winter was not that far away in the past. What were the local elementals like? She knew what the Indian elementals, who danced to India's seasons, were like- how they slept for weeks, months after their seasons finished. In India, particularly further to the south, there was the season of rains and the season of growing, it being too hot for winter. When woken up during their sleeps, elementals could get quite vicious, she knew.

What were the elementals like where there were more seasons? Winter, spring, summer, and fall? She stifled a giggle, and looked about. She'd heard stories, of course, and who hadn't? Did summer elementals sleep through all three seasons that weren't their own, or just through winter, or...?

The little fairies squeaked, and pointed down towards a rather small body of water- too big to be a pond, but really too small to be anything but- with a mound of earth and stone along one side that the locals surely called a mountain and cliffs. Tooth knew better; she wouldn't have called this mound a hill, let alone anything grander.

"Down here?" she asked, aware of a nearby settlement. Oh, plenty of children, the local humans must have been followers of one of those religions that insisted on lots of babies. That was the best way to spread a religion, in her opinion. Have lots of children and raise them to follow it, and less of this 'by fire and sword' nonsense.

Tooth followed her girls down to the base of the demi-cliff, where a shallow cave had formed through weathering and some animal digging at the loose dirt. The fairies urged her in, though the ceiling was so low she could only enter crouched over, almost on hands and knees.

At the back of the cave, there was a boy.

Tooth gasped, both hands clapped to her mouth to stifle the sound. After a minute of study, though, she realized he wasn't human as she'd first thought.

No. He was some kind of elemental spirit.

Oh, how adorable he was! She would have guessed thirteen or fourteen, curled up and loose-limbed in sleep. He had short, white hair, and ghost-pale skin. His clothing was fairly traditional for the area; except he didn't wear any shoes and his shirt and pants were both covered in frost.

Was this a winter elemental?

One of her fairies moved forward, talking quickly and quietly. She had seen this boy several weeks before, playing with the children. The little fairy enthused over a wild sled ride down a hill and an afternoon of laughter, ending only when mothers called their children in for dinner. The boy had looked sad, and vanished into the forest. The little fairy had kept an eye out for him, because he'd had such a nice laugh and a pretty, white smile.

"Oh, yes," Tooth murmured, and looked at the boy. Oh, but he was the absolute picture of innocence. He shifted in his sleep, and several locks of hair fell forwards, until the ends brushed against his eyelids.

She reached forward, and brushed the strands away.

The boy's eyes snapped open, and quicker than thought he jerked his head up and around and then he _bit her_.

Tooth yelped, and pulled back automatically. The boy snarled like a feral dog, but did eventually let go.

Tooth fled the cave, trailed by her little fairies. Her hand was bleeding, and it ached abominably. The fairies clustered around her, voicing their distress.

_That_ had never happened before, they assured her. The winter elemental was a _friendly_ boy, kind to children. A bit mischievous, but never hurtful.

"Well," Tooth said, cradling her aching hand to her chest. "Now I know what seasonal elementals here do, when their sleep is disturbed."

She sighed, and studied the bite marks. Oh, a perfect arch, each imprint showing the ideal placement for each tooth... If only she could have seen the teeth, too! But no, it would not be wise to go back to that cave, at least not until the boy was awake.

"Alright, girls," Tooth said. "We'll give him the benefit of the doubt, hm? Find out who he is, and then invite him over to the palace. One can never have too many friends, and I can't imagine he's got too many believers yet."

The little fairies agreed.

It took nine months for the fairies to learn the boy's name, Jack Frost. But it would take three more centuries before he was ever invited to the palace. Tooth apologized when she found out why; her little fairies kept fainting when Jack smiled at them, so the invitation had never been extended.

Jack just laughed, and said he understood.

* * *

2\. Sandy (1806)

The spirit was out in the open, where just anyone could come upon him.

Sandy circled the sleeping boy, and chewed his bottom lip. He had seen plenty of winter elementals over the years, and this one was almost the stereotypical image of the kind. White hair that looked, and surely was, as soft as a big, puffy snowflake. Pale skin of the kind European nobility had been obsessed with, only in this boy the veins underneath weren't visible at all. His clothing, an old fashioned white blouse and a blue waistcoat in the latest fashion, along with his deer-hide trousers, were covered in swirls and whorls of frost. He was barely breathing, and if one didn't know better, one might have assumed he was dead.

Sandy knew better. The boy was only sleeping.

Only. He sighed, and shook his head. Elemental spirits were vulnerable when in their torpors, unable to defend their selves from weather, mortals, or other spirits. And this boy was sleeping out in the open, in a field that- granted- was far from human influence and in an area that got more good weather than bad, but that meant nothing when it came to summer's heat! Even if no summer spirit hurt the boy, the sun itself would!

He had to do something. He'd heard of this boy, from Tooth and a few other friendly spirits. Jack Frost, who iced over windows and painted tree trunks with his touch, who brought laughter to the darkest days of the year. Jack's efforts made it harder for Pitch to gain hold over the humans in this part of the world, did he but know it.

Sandy frowned in thought, and then lit up, quite literally, as an idea came to him. There was a cave but two, three miles away, deep enough for a winter spirit to feel comfortable even through summer's worst. It would be a simple matter to lift the boy with his sand, and then transport him over to the cave.

He eased his sand under the boy, almost a grain at a time. The boy murmured in his sleep, rolling over onto his side. Such a sweet little boy. He worked more sand under the child, until there was enough for him to lift the boy without disturbing him.

"Hey!"

Sandy jumped, and managed to lose definition in his fingers. What?

"Hey!" A young woman stormed forwards, having simply appeared at the edge of the field. Another spirit; by the brilliant red hair and glowing red eyes, as well as the color scheme for her... quite masculine... attire, either a spirit of fire, or summer. Or both, the two were not mutually exclusive.

"What do you think you're doing? Leave Jack alone!"

Sandy blinked several times, and then patted the boy on the shoulder. This was Jack?

The boy's reaction to the touch was instantaneous- and _painful_.

Ice suddenly crawled over Sandy's hand, his arm, and forced its way between the grains of his sand. His entire left side suddenly became extremely heavy, and it was difficult to keep his arm put together. The ice interfered with his cohesion, it seemed.

He backed away at once, of course. The boy seemed oblivious; he snuffled a bit in his sleep, muttered something, and then began to snore very faintly.

"Heh." The fire spirit shook her head, and gestured Sandy towards the other side of the field. "Bad idea to mess with Jack while he's napping, old man." She offered a small flame, cradled in the palm of her hand. Well, he needed to thaw his arm out anyways...

He tilted his head to the side, and then began the usual pantomime.

"Oh, don't bother. Unless you're asking about the price of wheat in Saskatchewan, in which case you're out of luck. Jack's a winter spirit, but he likes snoozing in the sun. Says he hates waking up with cold hands and feet." She shrugged, and tempered the flame so it provided a low, even heat. "We all keep an eye out for him. Good kid, watches over us when it's our turn to nap. But he doesn't like to cuddle when dormant, you know? Typical winter spirit in that way, or so I've been told."

By that point, Sandy's arm was back to normal, but for a bit of lingering stiffness. He flexed his elbow and winced. Well, it could have been worse. From now on he'd have to remember to keep his distance from this Jack child, at least while the youngster slept. Freezing was uncomfortable.

He sighed, and looked sadly at the sleeping boy. He hadn't meant any harm...

The fire spirit laughed at him. "What, you think your arm's bad? You should've seen what he did to my Joseph, one time. Dumb mutt took three years to grow back those teeth, and I've never let him forget it..."

* * *

3\. The Easter Bunny (1967)

There was a boy on the rock.

Aster paused in his work, and began to circle the odd little flower garden. About halfway around, he grimaced and forced himself to stop. He was picking up human habits faster and faster these days, and if this kept up he'd forget his own instincts next. Pooka did _not_ circle anyone in a steady walk, not unless they were courting. Observation involved, well, mainly taking a step, then pausing to observe the subject from that angle for a few minutes, then taking another step and repeating the process.

None of which had anything to do with the boy, asleep on the rock.

Although, Aster thought, boy was perhaps... not quite right. He must have been fifteen or sixteen, on the cusp of manhood. He'd chosen to curl up on an odd bit of rock in the park, a large boulder in the center of a ring of flowers, with a flat-ish top just the right size for a scrawny little... winter spirit, wasn't he?

Yeah, yeah, the colors were right for it, and if Aster had an eye for anything, it was colors. What was a winter spirit doing conked out in the open like this?

Must not've been a strong one. The seasonal spirits slept through their opposite time of year; so a winter spirit only had to sleep during the summer. And this was spring, and barely spring at that!

Maybe he wasn't in his torpor, though. Might've just been a nap.

Aster rolled his eyes. If that's what it was... Naps were all fine and good, but the idiot needed to clear out. That rock was near _perfect_ for his googies and the sprogs. He'd just take a moment to clear the idiot out, than he'd get back to hiding his eggs for the kids to hunt out.

He reached over, and shook the spirit's shoulder roughly. "Oy," he said, automatically scowling. "Wake-"

Someone hit him in the mouth with a fucking _sledgehammer_.

That was a fist.

Aster staggered back, and then tripped and fell on his rump. It hurt. Blood, metallic and warm, was heavy on his tongue, and the scent filled his nose. So did actual blood; it dripped down the front of his muzzle and down off his chin.

The winter spirit glared at him, eyes at half mast and hazy with sleep. "Hey," he said, voice rasping and upper lip curling to show his teeth. "Beat feet, you candyass. Some people are crashing here."

What?

The winter spirit glared another second or two, then rolled over and started snoring.

Aster scowled and swiped at the blood matting down his fur. Tempting as it was to cover the bastard with Easter Eggs, he really didn't want to know what such a bad-tempered spirit would do to a couple kids looking for a bit of fun.

Instead, he left the eggs tucked around the base of the rock. Enjoy the sound of squealing, laughing children, tosser.

* * *

4\. Pitch (2013)

There was an illicit thrill in walking openly beneath the full moon. Something that made him feel _alive_ again, knowing that fool Manny could see him, but was constrained from doing anything unless he saw Pitch acting out against the humans and their children.

Such a fool, Manny was. Still, Pitch enjoyed his walks. He rather imagined it was much like flipping the eternal-brat the bird.

The night was active, although with spirits, not mortal wildlife. Pitch tended to have that effect on the mortals. As for the spirits...

"What part of no don't you- eep!" The flower spirit was swept aside, and then Pitch batted away some kind of... what was that thing? A bit of solidified air? These spirits, none of which were taller than his knee, and quite often much smaller, were trying to stop him from advancing. Had he been in his full strength, they would have all been _dead_ by now.

Galling as it was, he was unable to summon the power necessary to kill them all dead with fright.

Not that they needed to know that.

And then... oh, this looked like a familiar location. And a familiar winter spirit, too...

The latest Guardian, Jack Frost.

Pitch chuckled, and stalked forward. Strangely enough, the spring spirits all drew back once he was out in the relative open. The small lake was very picturesque in the silvery light, and he paused long enough to leer up at Manny. Was he watching now? Watching Pitch as he approached the new Guardian?

This would be so much more... _fun_ , he thought, a dark twist to his lips, if Manny was, indeed, watching.

Jack Frost was asleep and helpless. Apparently gaining a small handful of believers had done nothing for the required length of his rest. Only the weakest of seasonal spirits needed to sleep two out of the four seasons; the strongest, only through a few weeks, perhaps two months, of their opposite time of year.

Poor little Jack. So desperate to be believed in, he finally got his wish, but it did him no good in the end... did it?

No, indeed it didn't...

Pitch chuckled again, and then knelt down beside Jack. Such a fragile looking boy... twitching as he dreamed.

The Nightmare King reached for the boy's forehead, grinning. How should he twist those dreams? He would turn hope into despair, wonder into horror, memory into void, and dream into nightmare... Yes...

His fingertips brushed Jack's forehead.

And then-

Then...

Someone was screaming. After a long, painful moment, Pitch realized he was the one making the noise.

Jack loomed over him, his face twisted into an ill-suited expression of pure rage. " _Who_ ," he breathed, his breath visible as though it were the dead of winter, not a late spring. " _Who disturbs my slumber_?"

Oh. Well.

That was right.

Winter spirits got touchy during their seasonal slumber, didn't they?

Pitch gathered the ragged remains of his power, and then shifted in preparation to stand.

He was used to pain, it was an old friend from the battlefield and the medical tents after... Yet he had never, not in any lifetime, felt such agony as ripped up and down his spine, originating from his hips.

He must have made some noise, because the enraged winter spirit looked down at him. For a moment Jack looked surprised and confused, but the moment passed and rage twisted his features again.

"You," he said, and lifted his staff.

Pain or no pain, dignity or none, Pitch wasn't going to just lie there and let himself be... whatever it was Jack planned for him!

He got up and ran as fast as his legs could take him, to the nearest patch of shadows and the safety of his lair.

He remained in his lair for the rest of the spring and well, well into summer. Boredom was much preferable to being punched in the groin like that ever again.

* * *

5\. North (2013)

"Have you heard? There's a rumor in St. Petersburg."

Phil snorted, and grumbled sarcastically that there were _always_ rumors in St. Petersburg.

"Yes, yes." North nodded agreement. "But this one is new about Jack."

Well, that got a smidgen of interest, the Russian was amused to see. Phil hid it well, but he took a personal interest in Jack Frost. Granted, prior to Jack's choosing, that interest had not been quite so well intentioned... something North took personal responsibility for. He'd instructed his yeti that he didn't want to be bothered by random spirits coming to gawk at a Guardian, as had occurred some years after he'd accepted Manny's offer. The yeti had assumed Jack was one of those gawkers, and run him off.

He sighed. Phil raised his eyebrows, but didn't ask.

"Rumor is that Jack was attacked during seasonal sleep, yes? By Pitch." North scowled, as did every yeti in hearing range. "Pitch was driven off. Much laughter is had about how, though no one will _explain_. But I do not like this, Phil."

Phil snorted, and agreed. Perhaps North should just go ahead and make that guestroom into one meant for Jack, then. Without asking Jack's opinion.

"Perhaps. At least I can make offer. Is almost autumn, I heard rumors late." He would invite Jack over when the boy woke, in a week or two. Surely Jack would accept. It was only reasonable. After all, here in the North Pole, North could protect the boy as he slept.

* * *

(2014)

Tooth glanced at the door, and made a face. "Isn't Jack sleeping right now?"

"Other option is asking Seraphina," North said. The quartet made a face. Much though North didn't like the thought of waking Jack up as he slept, he liked the thought of visiting with Mother Nature much less. She was strange, Seraphina was. Oh, certainly, Bunny and Sandy were older, although when you were talking millions upon billions of years a few centuries difference in ages didn't matter. But with Bunny and Sandy, you didn't know that. They didn't make you _feel_ the weight of their years, the way Seraphina did.

Seraphina looked at the world in a way completely alien, even compared to Bunny, who came from a world of red sun and yellow sky, and Sandy, who was not even flesh and blood, but living _sand_. Mortals were fond of the saying "mother nature is a bitch", but in truth, Mother Nature simply... did not care. Not about individuals. Not even about individual species. She simply... watched.

So no. North did not want to wake up Jack. But he did not want to speak with Seraphina, either.

"It will only take, what, five minutes?" he asked. The other Guardians were looking wary. It wasn't kind to wake up seasonal spirits as they slumbered. North thought it risked their health, perhaps. "Simply wake him, ask if this Polar Vortex is normal, and then he sleeps again."

"I'm not doing it," Bunny muttered.

North raised his eyebrows, and bit back several comments. He would have to speak to Bunny later, but only if things continued as they had been the past year and a half. Now that Bunny and Jack were not at each other's throats for slights imagined, well... North was feeling rather _paternal_ to Jack, and he rather thought a shovel talk with a sword might be called for.

But not right now. He looked over at Sandy, who shook his head and waved his arms in emphatic negation- odd, because Sandy would have easiest time helping Jack back to sleep- and Tooth sighed.

"I'm sorry, North. It's your idea. You should do it."

Fair enough, and true. He nodded. "I will not be long," he promised.

The other three exchanged an odd look he could not interpret. He put it out of his mind. It did not matter overmuch, he thought. They were just feeling bad that they could not let Jack rest, as tired as he was.

North moved through his workshop until he came to the residential wing. His own rooms were down this hall, as well as the guest rooms for his friends. And Jack's room, which was no longer properly a guest room, but not used all the time the way a resident would do.

Perhaps this was what it was like for parents with children gone off to college or university, he thought, amused at himself. Jack was certainly of an age for it, wasn't he?

North let himself into Jack's room, and paused a moment to study the boy. Jack sprawled on top of the bed, the covers kicked off to the floor. He'd removed his sweater, and so slept in his pants and shirtsleeves. North made a quick mental note to get Jack a new undershirt. The one he currently wore was threadbare, going yellow with age and wear.

"Ah, my boy," he murmured, the old Russian he'd grown up with thick on his tongue. A dialect used only by the Cossacks, too, though he'd been twelve when the city had fallen. Ah, well, such was in the past, and best not to think about it.

In sleep, the lines Jack's early life had put on him were all too visible. Awake, Jack was a laughing fiend, bright and always moving, and the only lines on his face were lines of laughter. Smiling, it was possible to see where he would have had wrinkles had he grown old as North had.

Asleep, well... Worry left its mark, despair had rested a heavy hand on his head. It made Jack look older than the seventeen he was, so that when he slept, he looked in his early twenties. A worn twenty-year-old at that, old before his time.

North bit back a sigh, as Jack wasn't one to be pitied. It had taken time for the four of them to apologize to Jack, for their early treatment of him. Unintentional or not, the ignoring was... Well. Only Ombric could go back to the past, and not even he could change it. Jack had forgiven them, at least, and once that was done he refused to let anyone dwell on it overmuch.

Even though North could sometimes not do anything to help it.

He cleared his throat, and reached over for Jack's shoulder. "Jack," he said.

The boy's eyes popped wide open, and he sat bolt upright.

"The square root of one million, forty-eight thousand, five hundred and seventy-six is one thousand and twenty-four," Jack said, so quickly he might have been on espresso again. "The surface of the human skin is six-point-five square feet. Disneyland opened in 1955. It is illegal to frown at cows in Bladworth, Saskatchewan."

North began to back away, even as he smiled. Well. That was interesting.

"I think I will let you sleep," he said.

Jack turned to look at him, and blinked twice. "Bunny does that nose wiggle thing when I tap his nose," he said, this time slowly, slurring the words a bit. "It's cute." He yawned, and flopped back down on the bed. Even as North reached the door, he began to snore.

* * *

+1. Aster (2016)

Well, bloody hell, Jack had started his nap early, hadn't he?

Aster groaned, and rubbed at the back of his neck. He wished Jack wouldn't do this to him. The winter spirit had admitted... oh, he couldn't remember exactly when, but it'd been just before that horrifying talk with North. At any rate, Jack had revealed that he didn't _have_ to sleep through spring, that he was one of those lucky seasonal spirits that only needed to sleep through a few weeks of summer, but he'd gotten into the habit because the longer he slept, the less alone he was...

Now that he thought about it, Aster was pretty sure his reaction to Jack's admission had been what'd sparked the whole talk with North. Certainly, grabbing Frostbite and pulling him onto Aster's lap, crooning and chinning the boy, had been rather obvious...

Even to Jack, who didn't always pick up on anything but the most obvious of stuff.

Although, remembering the boy's- or rather, young man's, Jack's slow growth finally seemed to have settled down with him looking anywhere from seventeen to twenty-three- reaction to Aster's reaction was... eh, not appropriate at this time, with his mate asleep and taking up more than his fair share of the nest.

Fuck. Or not fuck, considering... Argh. Aster scowled, and resolved to ignore his stupid libido. Jack was asleep. Aster was _not_ about to try waking him up, because Jack's punches had only gotten stronger over the years.

Well, that, and when half asleep, Jack didn't _pull_ his punches, either. And it was a bit galling to realize that his little Frostbite, who still looked like he'd break if you breathed on him wrong, had a punch like a freight train.

"Why?" Aster whined under his breath. "Why couldn't you wait until next week- or even until summer? Don't you like chatting with those flower sprites and the like?" Although it was rather strange that all the other elemental spirits adored Jack, he did understand. The winter spirit protected them while they slept. It was admirable, and also made Aster's libido start nagging.

Well, just about everything Jack did these days made Aster's libido start nagging. Honeymoon phase for spirits; he'd be like this for a couple years, he suspected.

Right now, Jack was naked. His clothes had been filed and set to one side in a messy pile, and he'd evidently decided blankets weren't worth bothering with, because he was completely uncovered. Aster let himself look, since he couldn't touch until his mate woke up and made life interesting. And it wasn't like he had to admit, to anyone, that he was having himself a quick wank or two while looking, now was it?

He sighed, and stripped off his minimal 'clothing'. Easter had gone well, he thought, and eyed Jack again. Easter had also happened later in the spring than usual, which might have been why Jack took a nap. Nap through the frantic, last-minute preparations that lasted about two weeks and turned Aster into a seething ball of neurosis, wake up after Easter to take advantage of Aster's post-holiday libido.

Only then Jack hadn't woken up.

He sighed again, and scratched his stomach idly. If that had been Jack's plan, well, points for thinking ahead, but negative points for forgetting to set an alarm clock or something.

Well, if he couldn't have sex with his mate- and mood he was in, it would have been sex instead of lovemaking- then he'd just have to take care of matters with his own hands. Matters currently involved his half-erect prick, sliding out of his sheath and beginning to ache with arousal.

Aster settled down in the nest, half curled up on his side, just shy of touching Jack's outstretched calf with his knees. Slowly, looking on his sleeping mate the entire time, he reached down and wrapped one hand around his prick. A few strokes, and his donger was hard enough to hammer nails with. Or hammer something else, he thought, with a wistful glance down at Jack's hips.

His imagination was plenty good enough for a quick wank, at least. Aster imagined licking at Jack's hipbones, at just the right spot to make the Frostbite squeak and stretch out in pleasure. He growled a little at the mental image, and stroked himself faster.

Then he looked up at Jack's face, already imagining how it'd look twisted in pleasure- and stopped. Jack's eyes were open.

Had he moved? Made some sort of noise loud enough to wake the winter sprite up? Either way... Well, Jack was awake, and by the feral expression, not all there yet.

Great. He was about to be maimed by his mate, with his donger in hand, and stupid thing apparently didn't realize Jack was going to tear it off or something 'cause Aster was still hard as a rock.

Jack made an odd noise, halfway between an appreciative hum and a growl, and reached over and tangled his fingers in Aster's shoulder fur. His eyes glittered with promises, but Aster had a feeling he wouldn't enjoy them.

"You," Jack breathed, and then moved with astonishing swiftness for someone who'd been asleep just a minute before. He had caught hold of Aster's wrists and pinned the Pooka's hands down at his sides, while at the same time straddling Aster's hips. Aster's prick bumped up against Jack's arse, and the winter spirit made that same hum-growl sound.

After a second of stunned silence, Aster realized the sound was _appreciation_. "Ah... mate?"

Jack hummed, and bent forward until he could nuzzle along the line of Aster's neck and chin. His nips left sharp pinpricks of pain, quickly soothed when he revisited the spots and laved them with his tongue. Jack never had minded fur in his mouth.

"Jack?" Aster tried to pull his hands free, and only got a tighter grip on his wrists for his troubles. And while the sensible part of him was still quite worried, because Jack was nipping and licking at his _throat_ and was a just-woken-up, powerful winter spirit and those spirits were _never_ nice just woken up... well, his libido had _ideas_ , and he was rocking his hips up ever so slightly so his prick rubbed against Jack's arse.

Jack growled, and shifted so Aster's prick wasn't against his arse again, but under the winter spirit.

Then he ground down against Aster, hard and fast. Aster yelled and bucked up against the pressure and friction, sparks exploding behind his eyes.

Pooka refractory periods were a lot faster than humans. It took a minute, but his prick was hard and ready to go again by the time he could see again.

"Jack?" he asked, and tested moving his hands. Yup, Jack had let go of his wrists. Good. Now, was it safe to touch?

His mate didn't look dangerous, if one went only by body language, and didn't look in his eyes. Jack was aroused, his cock flushed a light violet shade, and he kept shifting his hips back and forth ever so slightly, so his balls kept brushing against Aster's. Apart from the low hum-growl, that was actually quite normal. Of course, usually there was a bit more pawing at each other's bodies, and snark, than this.

Jack's expression, however, told a different story. _Someone_ was home, but it wasn't the carefree prankster. No, this Jack was feral, and could probably tear someone apart with his bare hands without feeling regretful.

Of course, this Jack was also looking at Aster like he was a ten course meal made up of all his favorites, so perhaps Aster could be forgiven for thinking that of his mate.

"Soft Bunny," Jack crooned, and pet Aster's cheek. "Soft Bunny, warm Bunny, big ball of fur." He paused to grin, the expression darkly mischievous. "Happy Bunny," he ground down against Aster's prick, groaning, and then continued. "Horny Bunny. Sex, sex, _sex_."

Then he nipped Aster's throat again.

Oh. Well. Aster wrapped one arm around Jack's back, and pressed his other hand to the small of his mate's back, just over the faint curve of his arse. "Like that, is it?" he asked, and tilted his head back to give Jack better access. "Yeah, I think I can help with that. Gonna ride me, mate?"

Jack hum-growled again, nipped at the base of Aster's ear, and then reached to the side of the nest. Aster took the opportunity to send his hands a-roaming, ending with a double handful of winter spirit arse. It was a good handful. Not too much, but not so little he forgot sex and got the urge to feed Jack high-cal food.

Jack eased out of his stretch and, feral glint in his eye or no, gave Aster a speaking _look_. One that, paired with the vial of lubricating oil in his hand, meant _very good things_ for the near future.

Aster grinned, even as Jack shifted up off his lap. Feral or not, mostly asleep or not, Jack's hands were steady while he uncorked the vial, and poured out a measure of the stuff into the palm of one hand. He gave the vial to Aster, who quickly corked it and set it to one side, and then rubbed the oil over Aster's donger, from narrow tip to broad base.

And then Jack shifted again, until he was hovering over Aster's prick. Aster reached down and held himself steady as Jack began to lower himself. Oh, crikey, but Jack was tight. It'd been weeks since their last bout of sex. It made Jack go slower, head thrown back and teeth bared as he struggled with conflicting desires.

Jack had confided to Aster, once, while in the afterglow of a particularly sweet bit of lovemaking, that he never could make up his mind whether it was better to all but slam himself down onto Aster's prick, or take it slow and enjoy the burn and stretch. Apparently he _still_ didn't know which was better.

Slow seemed to win out. It took a full minute before Aster was fully sheathed inside Jack, and he made the most _delicious_ sounds the entire time. Aster growled, and rolled his hips a touch once he felt Jack _properly_ seated in his lap. It forced his prick just a little bit deeper, and Jack growled in response, hands fisting in Aster's fur at the shoulders.

Jack growled again, and rose up onto his knees until only the tip of Aster's prick was still inside him, and then sank back down. Aster groaned, but held off lifting his hips up to meet him halfway. Not yet. For now, slow and almost tender seemed the order of the game.

Slow and tender was soon thrown out the window, as Jack picked up speed and began snarling in between panting breaths.

Aster thrust his hips up as Jack all but slammed himself down. He was more than a bit short of breath himself, and the grip he had on Jack's hips would leave pale bruises for at least a week. Instead of Jack taunting him, urging him on, there were only the snarls and groans and frequent yanks on the two handfuls of fur the winter spirit still held.

Neither of them would last long at this pace, and to be honest neither of them _wanted_ to. Aster groaned, and then yanked Jack down with one hand, until he could press his lips to Jack's mouth in a rough approximation of a human kiss. Not that Pooka did that, but humans did, and he didn't mind accommodating his lover in such a small way...

Jack groaned into the kiss, the change of position also changing the angle of Aster's prick. His cock was hard against Aster's stomach, very nearly warm, and leaking beads of semen so fast it was clear he was almost ready to come.

Aster snarled, and rolled them over so Jack was under him. "Enough playing," he gasped, and wrapped one hand under Jack's thigh, and lifted. He began thrusting harder into his mate, and Jack writhed and groaned from the treatment.

And then his mate tensed all over and shouted, as he came. The semen that landed on his stomach began to freeze, a _most_ attractive look in Aster's appearance.

Jack clenching around his prick was enough. Two, three more thrusts, and it was Aster's turn to come, grinding hard against Jack's arse as everything inside him lit up as though he'd been hit by lightning. The orgasm left him gasping and exhausted, sprawled over Jack like a large, furry blanket, softening prick still inside the winter spirit. Not that either of them cared. It was comfortable enough, and made it easier for another round once they'd slept their fill.

"Mm..." Jack turned his head and nuzzled against Aster's cheek. "Bunny?"

"Yeah?" Oh, look, Jack was using words. Perfect timing, because Aster's tongue had given up on language for the time being.

"You okay?"

"Mmhm." He shifted, covering Jack up just a little bit more. For a winter spirit, Jack didn't actually like being _cold_.

Aster was better than a furnace, apparently. He certainly didn't mind sharing his body heat.

"Oh. Good." Jack nuzzled Aster's cheek again, and yawned. "You can wake me up anytime. Okay?"

Well, that was good to know. Aster nuzzled Jack back, but at that point his mate was already asleep. That was fine. He'd just have to wake him up again later.

Carefully. One punch to the face was _more_ than enough.


End file.
